> The Princess and The Commander > by heatherkiki > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- > Chapter One: In Which Introductions Are Made > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Tempest Shadow’s moving into Canterlot Castle. She needs to say it to herself maybe hundreds, thousands of times before she starts to believe it. Tempest Shadow is moving into Canterlot Castle. Just three months ago, she’d been ready to help invade it, if only to get her magic back, but now she’s about to go and live there for an undetermined amount of time. Life really is batshit crazy sometimes. Twilight and her gaggle of friends (they’re really quite sweet, but Tempest doesn’t think she’s emotionally developed enough to tell them to their faces) are helping her separate and pack what little of her belongings she’s bringing from the already small collection of belongings in general. Rarity had been kind enough to make a few new clothes for her. (“Really darling, I can’t have you walking around in the same clothes forever like some common vagabond. Besides, it would be such a waste of your impeccable bone structure”).  Applejack had given her the recipe to the Apple Family Apple Fritters (because Tempest has taken such a liking to them, and who’s she going to share the top secret recipe with anyway? It isn’t like she has other friends). Pinkie Pie had been about to throw her a party before Twilight quietly took her to the side and explained why that was probably not the best idea. The girl had seemed sad (at least, what Tempest identified as sad with her basic understanding of feelings), but agreed anyway, instead showering Tempest with small, cutsey gifts and cards. Fluttershy had been unbearably kind, whispering words of understanding and an invitation to tea every once in a while as they awkwardly hugged goodbye. Rainbow Dash had just given her a friendly punch in the shoulder as well as her battered old copy of Daring Doo (since, in her words, “it can get pretty boring in Canterlot, and you’ll need some action to stay awesome!”). Twilight, of course, had given her a large array of other books to bring, as well as a promise to write every month, at least (“but, I recommend on the daily!”). (“And I’ll miss you. We all will.”) She smiles faintly as she sits on the train to Canterlot, her hands buried in the pockets of the leather jacket Rarity had made her. It’s not that she doesn’t like Ponyville—she loves it, in fact—but it had gotten much too hard to breathe with all the people coming and going from Twilight’s Castle. Never had there been a single moment of silence in the time Tempest had stayed there.  And she understands this, of course. Twilight’s regency is still young (as is she, Tempest reminds herself), and new, and exciting. Enthusiasm is to be expected. But as juvenile as it makes her sound, sometimes Tempest feels it is a little… much. Which is why she’s glad for a chance to finally take a breath from all the bustle and uncertainty of Ponyville. Canterlot, as Tempest understands (through all the things that had been said-slash-yelled at her), while being an important marker in society, is extremely “laid-back” and “organised” and, though busy, always maintains a sense of peace. Most things that occur there are expected and easily dealt with, and in Canterlot Castle, it’s easy to stay undetected and unseen while still able to have company if she were to want it.  It sounds perfect. Yes, maybe she will have to deal with the two royal sisters, but that is a small price to pay, she thinks. It isn’t anything she can’t handle. “Sister,” Luna starts that same night, catching the older princess just as she’s about to enter her room and abruptly pulling her away from wherever her thoughts had taken her and into the good old here and now. The sun princess turns slowly, a carefully blank look on her face which her sister knows means she is losing her willingness to be patient. Celestia, for all intents and purposes, is nowhere near ready to have a conversation of any sort with her sister—it is almost time for her to retire for bed, after all—but especially not one discussing… ah, well, recent developments. “Please Luna,” she says, instead of dismissing her with a tired wave as she so longs to do, “I need to get to bed, can this wait until morning?” “No!” Her sister snaps, ever the dramatic. “I—Tempest Shadow? Here! Of all places?” “Oh, like I had a choice, Luna. We don’t choose where fate may lead us, but we can choose the path to get there.” Out of the corner of her eye, she watches Luna roll her eyes at her words of wisdom, but she powers on while suppressing a grin. “Tempest Shadow chose to save Twilight and her friends, with little hesitation, and for that I will always be grateful.” “But still,” her sister continues—if only their subjects knew this was the true Princess of the Night, a whiny child, Luna would never be respected (or feared) again, “could she not find another place to stay? Somewhere that isn’t with us in the castle?” “I understand your concerns, Luna, but think about it this way: Tempest Shadow has been shunned by people almost her entire life, and now she has suddenly been thrust into a world where she is so clearly an outcast. She will need help finding her footing.” She turns to Luna and smiles, giving her a look. “Doesn’t that sound familiar?”  “Well, yes, but—” “Besides, Twilight’s castle is quite at maximum capacity. With Starlight Glimmer, Spike, as well as her friends and occasionally Discord, I think it would be a little overwhelming for Tempest Shadow, don’t you? And I would rather have her stay with one of us than go off on her own. Cadence is, of course, out of the question with her new role as mother and the Crystal Empire being so far away.” In this brief conversation, Celestia’s patience has quickly run short, and, having reduced her sister to an irritated, stuttering mess, waves her hand to magically open the door that had closed when Luna called her name. “As wonderful as this has been, I think I really must get to bed now. And you must get to your duties.” “Oh, alright.” Luna sighs, realising that her sister really is exhausted—with everything that has happened in the past few days, she can’t blame her, she herself is tired too. But where Luna handles the subconscious sleeping mind, Celestia must actually talk and interact with their subjects, something Luna shudders just thinking about. “But I attest that we must continue this in due time.” “Of course, sister.” “Sweet dreams, sister.” “Indeed. Be safe, dear, and goodnight.” The next morning, she sees her sister only briefly before she finishes her final nightly rounds. “Good morning, sister,” Luna yawns, pulling one arm upwards as she curves back in a stretch, only to immediately slouch back down afterwards, shoulders sinking as she rubs her eyes. Where Celestia wears a soft, white peplos-style tunic—unadorned save for the golden spirals that frame her hips and cinch her waist, sun patterns embellishing the hem—Luna’s dress is a deep blue, and the light makes it sparkle like stars in the night sky with moons lining the collar and waist. It’s an absolutely ethereal dress, fit for the most gracious of royalty, but is adorably juxtaposed by the tired blink of her sister’s sleepy eyes. Celestia giggles a little at her utter cuteness, before Luna gives her a sour frown, and Celestia draws her lips tightly together in an effort to not be amused. It’s not that she can help it, her little sister really can be adorable. “You’re awfully chipper,” the moon princess grumbles. “Yes, well, a restful night will always put you in a good mood—or I suppose, in your case, a restful three hours.” Luna rolls her eyes. Their long-standing debate of her daily amount of sleep has always been something Celestia has been able to scold her on, no matter the discussion. But she still smiles a little, to show no true anger remains. Their conversations lulls slightly, as Luna walks through the halls absentmindedly, and Celestia follows.  “I would go back and rest,” Luna says, finally (Celestia snorts, knowing that Luna’s version of “rest” means playing silly pranks on the majority of the guard, or floating around on a cloud while acquainting herself with local gossip—also known as eavesdropping). “But I believe there is another matter you would like to discuss with me? Other than berate me for my terrible sleeping habits, of course.” Celestia nods. “Yes. I just wanted to apologise. For yesterday. I was so short with you when you only wanted to talk to me about my decision to let Tempest stay here. Which was something I should have discussed with you beforehand. So, I apologise.” “You apologised twice.” Luna grins sleepily, then laughs. Celestia glares in response, but she knows it lacks any heat. “Hush, I’m trying to be genuine,” she says, pushing her shoulder slightly, which only serves to make her sister laugh even more. “But I am sorry,” she says, bringing the mood back to serious. “I know. And I understand, Celestia. You were tired, and I was bothering you.” Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Celestia tilt her head, eyebrows raised, and Luna knows she’s trying to prompt her to bring the conversation to the direction she would like it to be—but of course, she is far too polite to say anything of the sort. “And I ran into Tempest Shadow this morning. It seems she is an early riser. Before the sun, even. Imagine that.” “How did it go?” She asks carefully, and Luna thinks she sounds much too hopeful to be indifferent. Her sister has never been able to conceal her emotions, at least not from Luna. “Decently.” There is, she is starting to realise, not much to say about Tempest Shadow. She is a mysterious character, of course, but other than that… “She was…polite. Not much of a talker, I gathered. She did not seem too keen on conversation. Or at least, did not have much to say.” “She needs time,” Celestia says, wise as ever. Luna nods and quips, “Goodness knows I did,” and they share a laugh before Luna yawns yet again. “You should get to bed, sister.” “I should. And you should find Tempest Shadow.” “Yes, I should.” “Goodday, sister.” “Sweet dreams, dear.” Turns out, locating Tempest Shadow is not as difficult as Celestia had previously anticipated. She finds her taking a stroll through the palace gardens, and, for no apparent reason, decides to join her. In a strange way, she finds she is drawn to the conundrum that is Tempest Shadow—drawn to the rasp of her voice and the years in her eyes, made older by the things she’s endured, the clench of her jaw and the tension in her muscles. Maybe, she wonders, maybe it is their stark contrast. They haven’t properly met yet, but she knows the things that follow her own image—whispers of her youthfulness in spite of her age, her perceived naïveté, how she should rule with a firmer hand, she’s had it all—and she cannot help but think how interesting it would be, considering Tempest Shadow’s own image. She supposes she can be considered soft where Tempest Shadow is hard. It is something to be explored. And so, she finds herself here, in the palace gardens instead of doing her Very Important Royal Work (which she finds a very persistent royal pain). As soon as she walks close enough, she prepares herself to greet the shorter woman, but is beaten to it by Tempest Shadow herself. “Hello, Princess,” a voice says, unmistakably, quietly rough, and Celestia turns, smiling, to meet sharp and sunken eyes that seem to be in a constant state of suspicion. “Just taking a stroll through the gardens,” Tempest Shadow drawls, side-eyeing the Princess, “No need to worry, I’m not a danger to you.” Celestia smiles, and says, “Oh, no Commander, I’m not worried. Not worried at all. I just wanted to check up on how you’re doing. If you’re settling in alright…? Don’t hesitate to ask myself or my sister for anything you need—or even the staff.” And while she knows some people would and have taken advantage of this offer, she somehow has faith that Tempest will not. The shorter woman blinks slowly. (Everything she does is at her own time, with her own pace). She seems to understand the implication of trust as well, Celestia supposes, and apparently has no idea how to handle it being given so fast, so freely, if the way she has been perplexed into speechlessness (and is adorably, in the signature tough-as-nails, stoic way she’s heard about, trying not to show it) is any indication. “Of course, Princess.” “And,” Tempest continues, having recovered from whatever shock attack she had been victim of and falling easily back into her lazy state of slight malice, “I don’t have my status anymore. You don’t have to call me that.” Celestia nods, showing she understands, but then says, “That may be so, but a status had is a status earned. And so while you may no longer have an army to command, a commander you will remain to be.” She smiles encouragingly, a smile she has inflicted on her own student way too often. “To us, at least, if not to yourself.” Tempest nods again, awkwardly, and continues walking, Celestia matching her pace. “So,” she clears her throat, sounding as if she is about to start deflecting, “what’s a beautiful princess like you doing taking a walk with a broken soldier like me? No Princess-ly duties to attend to?” Celestia’s cheeks give a delicate blush and she ducks her head. Hopefully, she thinks, Tempest won’t notice. “I hope it's for more than just the good of your conscience.” Honest, blunt, to the point. Another small look at the things that make up the elusive Tempest Shadow. “Of course,” Celestia says emphatically. “I’ve heard a rumor has spread that you keep quite good company. Very eager for conversation.” Tempest looks at her for a while, eyebrow raised, before giving a crooked smile once she determines Celestia is joking. “You really have quite the humour, Princess.” “So I’ve been told.” They share a laugh, and Celestia cannot help but notice how well the husk of her companion’s chuckle and the ringing of her own mix remarkably well together. For some unknown reason, it brings a soft kind of smile to her lips. They walk a while, and Celestia listens to the crunching of grass under her shoes, or the singing of birds for a brief time, before deciding she would much rather attempt to get Tempest to share more about herself instead of mindlessly walking. “Would you mind if I were to ask you something more personal?” “Usually, the answer would be no, but,” she says, giving the princess a fleeting smile, “if it’s from you? Anything.” Valiantly ignoring the blush she can feel coming, she asks her question. (It is interesting, the back of Celestia’s mind notes, how the woman would prefer to steer clear of seriousness with subtle flirtation instead of the light-hearted humor she is so accustomed to, or perhaps even the grouchy persona). “Do you…” She purses her lips, trying to think of the best way to phrase this. “You still go by Tempest Shadow. I suspect there is a reason behind this, and I would like to know why… If, of course, you’re willing to share.” Tempest looks at her. Not in shock, not exactly, but in quietly abrupt consideration. Her head tilts to the side a little, her brows furrowing, and she seems mull over the way to go about the answer to Celestia’s not-quite question. She gets the feeling that there is little Tempest Shadow says that she does not mean. “I suppose you would get the answer out of me eventually. I,” she tries, then presses her lips together. “I’ve been Tempest Shadow far longer than I have been Fizzlepop Berrytwist. She… is dead, in her own way. No matter how much I try to revive her, she isn’t coming back. I am who I am now, for better or for worse, and there’s no point in trying to force change by answering to a name that just doesn’t feel… right..” Celestia looks at her, lips upturned in a sad smile, but there is no pity in it. This is, without a doubt, the most she has heard the other woman say without a pause, and feels relief in how much she has felt comfortable enough to reveal. Considering, Celestia lets Tempest’s words swirl around in her mind. Wise words from a wise person, she notes. Whether that is the product of her circumstance, or her inherent characteristics, Celestia does not know. Nature versus nurture, after all? “Well, dear, if it's any consolation, I’d say Tempest Shadow is quite a wonderful person all on her own, even if she doesn’t quite know where she fits yet.” As time passes by, walks such as that in the garden become fewer and fewer, and Celestia finds it a frustrating step backwards. Her sister, for the most part, has, to her knowledge, been largely ignoring or even avoiding Tempest (of course, only adding to the large amount of things Celestia is frustrated with—not that Luna particularly cares). She doesn’t know what made Tempest pull away. It seemed as though she’d gotten along so well, so far, and Celestia just cannot pinpoint the reason for this sudden change of heart. Was it something she said? Something she did? Did she push too hard, perhaps? Ask for too much, too fast—? “Sister, if you continue to stare at that toast any longer, I fear it will soon burst into tears.” Celestia looks up abruptly, hauled out of her thoughts, and meets Luna’s questioning gaze with a sheepish smile. “I apologise, sister. It’s just, I have a lot on my mind, right now.” “Oh,” Luna grins, leaning forwards on her hands with an expression of great curiosity on her ridiculously irritating face, “pray tell.” They are spending an extremely rare (and extremely needed) morning together. Usually, she and her sister can only spend the early evenings together—just before Luna has to continue with her nightly duties and Celestia with her sleep—eating dinner, discussing modern-day goings-on or a good book.  It’s Saturday, however, which means Celestia has cleared her entire day of public appearances and courtly meetings and godforsaken paperwork to instead spend the entire day with the person who knows her best. Luna, who somehow requires much less sleep than the average person—not that there are many things “average” about her—will always get a full day’s worth of sleep, ready to face the night and following day. They’ve had this little arrangement ever since Luna had come back, and have always fulfilled it. “You probably don’t want to know,” Celestia sighs, “as I see you’ve taken it upon yourself to avoid our guest at any given moment.” Luna rolls her eyes at her older sister. Honestly, Celestia may know what is best for her subjects, but when it comes to her own sister, she doesn’t know the first thing. “Don’t jump to conclusions, Celestia. I have not been avoiding Tempest—” “Oh, no, of course not. Only not talking to her, leaving the castle as soon as morning comes, not engaging in any sort of interaction, and essentially doing your best to steer clear of her whenever possible.” “I have not been avoiding Tempest,” Luna continues much more forcibly, shooting Celestia a glare, “but I think you will find that it is Tempest who is avoiding me.” At this, Celestia sighs. “Perhaps you should think about taking it upon yourself to talk to her first then. Be the bigger person.” “You know for a fact I have the maturity of an adolescent.”  “Luna.” “Alright, fine!” Luna finds Tempest wandering the halls at four o’clock the next morning, heading towards the kitchen. “Ah,” she says, and in response, the other woman doesn’t so much as flinch. She merely turns with an impassive face, eyebrows drawn together ever so slightly. “So this is when Tempest Shadow takes her morning meal, before the sun can even rise.” She’s dressed in an well-worn t-shirt that, prior to her using it, most definitely did not belong to her (Luna knows this because she has seen many instances in which a young boy—too small to fit, but too desperate to grow up to admit it—had worn a the same shirt with the words ‘Hum-Drum’ printed across the chest). It makes her a little more approachable, which Luna is glad for (even though it means all she gets in return for an amused huff is a blank stare). “Yes,” is all Tempest says, ducking her head slightly in respect as Luna unmounts her cloud. She tuts at Tempest (and as she stands, is shocked to find they are more or less the same height), and she straightens up again. “It’s a force of habit, I’m afraid,” she says, in explanation. Luna raises her eyebrows, prompting her to continue. She doesn’t, however, and Luna knows not to push, at the least. “I see,” Luna says, not knowing what on earth to say to that. Tempest only begins to walk again, and she finds herself wishing, as she rarely does, that she were perhaps as adept as her sister when dealing with emotions and topics of seriousness. It seems that there are bad memories there, but Luna isn’t sure how to get her to talk about them. “My, erm, my sister has been worried about you,” she tries instead, and Tempest gives her a mildly curious look. “I am under the impression that she feels she has upset you in some way, which is, she believes, the reason you have been pulling away.” Maybe Celestia wouldn’t exactly appreciate Luna confiding in Tempest her insecurities, but Luna is extremely tired of her increasing paranoia. “Oh. That hasn’t been my intention. I only—” “Enjoy your time alone, I’m aware.” “Is that the reason you avoid me?” Tempest asks, and Luna rolls her eyes. Honestly, these people and their assumptions. Tempest Shadow and Celestia, cut from the same cloth. “No,” she stresses, and Tempest has enough understanding to at least look almost-slightly sheepish, “I am giving you space. I know how overbearing my sister can be, and am allowing you space to breathe.” “That… makes sense,” she says, in such an unnatural way that Luna knows that this ‘concession’ is one of the many things Twilight has taught her of friendship in her short time in Ponyville. “I would’ve thought it’s because you don’t… like me.” Tempest’s head angles downwards as she says this, as if she’s ashamed at the very suggestion of her feelings of inadequacy. Luna knows this feeling; when vulnerability has been repressed for so long, feelings and expression can get a little… lost in translation. “On the contrary, I assumed you did not like me.” At this, Tempest gives a small smile as she shakes her head, and Luna sighs in relief. Finally, the woman is loosening up. “I… understand your difficulties,” she then says, after they’ve walked in an awkward silence for far too long. The other woman looks at her with confusion. “You and I, we are quite similar, you know. I am sure you’ve heard of my imprisonment and subsequent reformation?” Tempest nods. “Yes.” “But I am not certain you know of what happens after the reformation. I’m sure Twilight Sparkle would have told you sooner or later, given she be less preoccupied with recent happenings, but when I first resumed my royal duties, I was… not well liked. I could not relate to the people—because I had been out of touch with them for so long, you see—and though even now, I find it difficult, I can tell you it undoubtedly gets easier over time. Given I allow myself to let my guard down.” “You’re implying I need to be… vulnerable.” Tempest says, like it leaves a sour taste in her mouth. Luna nods. “Well, I was. Earlier. With your sister. And I suppose I came to wish she’d forget the conversation we had: a reason I’ve been avoiding her. I said some… personal things for reasons that I can't understand.” “Celestia has that effect. Often, she is able to get even the darkest of hearts to reveal their true feelings. It is a gift she has always had.” “I see. I suppose I’ll have to give it a try,” Tempest says with false bravado. “And I also suppose this means I have to apologise to her.” “Please do. She is getting unbearable.” “Princess.” “Commander,” Celestia answers, a teasing smile in her tone. She is much more relaxed this morning, Tempest notices. Perhaps it’s because, the day being Sunday, she has less work to do, allowing her a moment to herself. Or it could be that she’d gotten a restful night’s sleep, she doesn’t know. It is a beautiful morning, though. As Tempest takes note of the way the early morning sun shines through the stained glass windows, bathing the hallway in a beautiful, multicoloured light, and bouncing off Celestia’s pale, soft-looking skin and silk, elegantly long nightgown and robe, she thinks maybe the artistry of today is the reason for her good mood. “I’ve yet to have breakfast,” Tempest says, and watches as Celestia’s comely face draws down into a delicately confused frown. “I was wondering if I could join you.” “Oh! Why yes, yes of course.” Celestia beams, and Tempest suddenly feels she’s about to have a heart attack with the way her heart suspiciously starts beating unbelievably fast. Strange.  They walk in silence, to the dining room, as Tempest mulls over what exactly she wants to say, and as Celestia allows her mind to wander—content to smile serenely to herself, basking in the glow of the rising sun. Soon, though, Tempest notices her worrying her bottom lip, perhaps in thought. “I’d like to ask,” she says, and Tempest is strangely quick to make eye-contact, “if I’ve done anything to… offend? Or, uh… Have I done anything wrong?” Running her hand through her hair, Tempest almost smiles at the irony. “No, Princess, not at all.” “Oh.” “But I owe you... an explanation.” She continues, sighing. It’s the right thing to say, judging from the relieved look on Celestia’s face. “You did not push too hard, if that’s what you’re thinking. I only am unsure how to avoid being distant with others. It’s… my natural state, removed from society. And I cannot seem to overcome it… alone.” Celestia nods, her eyebrows drawn together, her lip—slightly red from her teeth, though Tempest doesn’t know why she notices—out in a minimal pout, head tilted to the side as she allows the silence to drape over them while she thinks. “So, you’re saying I have yet to push you... far enough?” Tempest nods sharply. “Yes, I suppose I am.” “Oh.” She smiles again, and Tempest unbelievably feels her heart rate concerningly speed up for a second time in almost double as many minutes. “Well then we’ll have to try together.” Breakfast is a moderately calm affair, after that, with Celestia gracefully buttering her toast and sipping her tea, and Tempest eating an apple or two while downing water. There’s conversation made, of course, and Tempest finds that it is neither tiring nor a chore, and that it’s surprisingly easy to talk after insecurities are aired.  In no time at all, breakfast is over and the sun has fully risen. A glance at the clock tells her it’s half-past-eight. “I’ll leave you,” she says to Celestia, who is in the process of dabbing the corner of her mouth with a napkin, “to your royal duties.” The princess gives a good-natured groan. “Oh, I wish you wouldn’t. They really can be a bore sometimes.” She giggles to herself, but adds on with a wink, “Though, don’t tell anyone I told you. Everybody seems to think I live for them.” “At least you have something to accompany your time.” Tempest grumbles cynically, more to herself than anything, but Celestia seems to catch it anyway. She isn’t sure how she feels about the knowing look the princess sends her. “As you wish you did?” Celestia asks, verbally prodding her to open up just a little. “Uh,” she says, hesitating a little, “I… yes. I suppose I do wish I had more… things to do.” Not that walking around aimlessly in the gardens and through the halls isn’t her joy of living, but someone as accustomed to physical labour as she, it’s inevitable she get restless from time to time. “Well,” the taller woman says, voice lilting in a beautiful way, “I know some of the guards have openings in their schedules for training; perhaps you could teach them a thing or two about hand-to-hand combat?” “Perhaps.”